


With You

by Nununununu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Cooking, Don't copy to another site, Feelings, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Gunshot Wounds, Hiding Injuries, Holding Hands, Kissing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sensory Deprivation, Teamwork, Touching, Tropes, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: A cool hand presses against his forehead – not rough, but not gentle either. Just there.In other words, Bucky and Sam, taking care of each other.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huntress79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/gifts).



> For Huntress79. I hope you like it - thanks for the fun prompts :)
> 
> (Originally posted 24/05; updated for author reveals).

The first time it happens, it goes like this.

Sam wakes slowly, reluctantly, as if he’s almost aware before regaining consciousness that everything’s going to hurt like hell. And guess what? He’s sure right.

The pain hits like a blazing fire in his abdomen as he surfaces further and he has to fight to muffle a groan.

“Ow,” So this was what being shot by a Hydra ray gun in the gut felt like, “Wow, that’s just really – _ow_.”

“Quiet,” A cool hand presses against his forehead – not rough, but not gentle either. Just there. Its presence is still almost unexpected enough to bring dampness to the corner of Sam’s still closed eyes.

“I didn’t –” He’d failed in his mission. He hadn’t saved who he’d set out to, although he’d fought so long and hard.

“Yeah,” The voice is almost familiar. Reminiscent of that touch – it’s not quite gruff, not quite soft. Something hollow about it, but not entirely; there’s emotion buried somewhere there, “Sometimes we don’t.”

Recognition drifts up in Sam’s beleaguered mind.

“Barnes?” For all Cap would call the man ‘Bucky’, this is the first time Sam calls him anything to his face.

Silence, broken only by the background drone of traffic and a tortured whine of something being bent forcibly back into shape, before a near inaudible metallic click. Sam’s eyes come open. Besides him, Bucky stiffens slightly, and then relaxes even less noticeably, like something’s slotted back into place. Something he gave no sign was troubling him, until it was not.

Something about it nags at Sam’s awareness, his belly full of flames as it still is.

“Shit, man,” He tries push himself upwards, abruptly certain, “You’re – you’re also hurt? They got you too?”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky says, which probably means he’s in just as much pain or more, and –

“Let me help,” Sam insists, even though he’s clutching at his abdomen, cut off by a groan.

A couple of other Avengers arrive then, ready to whisk Sam off and deal with the wound. In the noise and sudden busyness, he doesn’t notice Bucky slipping away, but when he looks back to thank him –

The man’s gone.

\---

The second time, it’s Bucky who gets hurt.

They’ve just completed a mission, infiltrating and then destroying an underground Hydra base, Bucky basically causing maximum pandemonium while Sam gets in, gets the files, sets the charges and then signals the other man so they can both get the hell out.

The explosion rattles the ground for miles off, but Bucky – busy picking off Hydra goons even as he runs – barely falters.

“Really?” Busy shooting a goon wearing an insultingly poor imitation of his wings out of the sky, Sam doesn’t see Bucky get hit by whatever weapon a Hydra scientist crawls out of the rubble to shoot.

“Wilson, go,” Bucky seems fine as far as Sam can tell from the understated rhythm of his breathing in the ear piece.

He continues to seem fine while they fight their way out from amongst the two truckloads of further goons that show up, Sam swooping down to provide ground as well as air cover, darting in as and when opportunity presents itself.

Really, Bucky would probably have this part covered on without the support. Still, he tosses a goon or two Sam’s way and Sam always makes sure to thank him dryly for the thought, whooping victoriously when he gets to cut off a third truckload of goons further around some hills and take them on himself.

“I wasn’t aware we were competing,” Is Bucky’s comment in Sam’s ear, his tone equally dry rather than flat in the way it was for so long in the past, and Sam goes to make some teasing comment about,

“What do you mean? I thought we were _always_ competing,” but then Bucky’s end goes oddly silent, cut off. “Barnes?”

They’re almost at the point of Sam calling the other man by his nickname now. Bucky almost might allow it in return.

The smile that tugs at Sam’s lips at the thought is quickly wiped away when he arches down to find Bucky collapsed on the ground.

“What the hell?” This doesn’t happen to the former Winter Solider. It just –

Doesn’t.

Sam ends up lugging them both as far away from any remaining goons as possible on foot, before propping Bucky’s head on his thigh as he sits with his back against a tree trunk, wings folded away and gun in readiness in his hand.

There’s nothing visibly wrong with Bucky, not that Sam wants to exactly delve (well, maybe he does want to – more and more these days – but not in this kind of situation and certainly not without Bucky’s consent). A brief skim turns up a frankly staggering amount of concealed weaponry, but no sign of what the matter is. Making sure he doesn’t swallow his tongue seems the most Sam can do for the moment, so he radios in for a pick up and sets out to wait.

Damn but that arm’s too heavy for him to fly them both out of here.

“Hey Barnes,” he says without thinking when Bucky’s eyelids crinkle marginally after around half an hour, “It’s Wilson. _Sam_. You with me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky brings his flesh-and-blood hand up slowly.

There’s something about the way he does it that makes Sam realise _this man’s in a hell of a lot of pain._

He finds himself gripping that hand with his own free one without thinking, offering what little comfort he can, pleasantly surprised when Bucky doesn’t object or pull away. Instead,

“Yeah,” Bucky repeats, and there’s a little crinkle between his brows Sam itches to soothe away with his tongue, and as such it takes him a moment to get it, to understand what the other man’s saying –

_I’m with you._

“Yeah,” Helpless not to grin, Sam squeezes the hand in his.

\---

The sixth – seventh? – time, they’re both near frozen, drenched and shivering, stumbling into the tiny safe house in the middle of nowhere only to discover that – of course – there’s only one bed.

“Seriously man, you take it,” All Sam wants ultimately is a hot shower – after that he can just collapse on the ancient couch, bumps and bruises be damned.

It doesn’t matter that he’s so dizzy with sensory overstimulation he thinks he might scream. Hydra had him in the deprivation tank for – who knows. A week? Feels like months. Everything’s too bright, too loud, too colourful, too –

No.

“Shut up,” is Bucky’s idea of an encouraging comment, but his tone’s patient as he says it, and the hand he closes in Sam’s collar doesn’t tug, even when Sam sways on his feet, “Sam.” Instead his voice is oddly patient, “Come on.”

Sam is so out of it Bucky has him poured into the aged bathroom’s cramped little bath before he quite knows what he’s about. The water is almost too hot, discoloured almost straight away with dried blood and dirt and –

Yeah, better not to think about it. Sighing, Sam lets his head tip back to lean against the edge of the tub.

“I’ll just go get –” Bucky leaves the sentence unfinished, abruptly pushing up off his knees to his feet.

“Hm?” After a few long moments, Sam manages to scrounge up the wherewithal to pull the plug out, replacing the old water with new and scrubbing himself off in it. Honestly, he’d prefer a shower except for the fact there’s no way his legs would support him right now.

“Here,” Bucky’s holding a tray of steaming hot noodles when Sam quits wincing in the attempt to reach the most painful spot on his back, no doubt the best option the safe house had on offer.

“That’s –” Sam can hardly imagine the former Winter Soldier in the little kitchen. Cooking. For _him_. But still. “Thanks.”

Bucky ends up soaping his back while Sam eats and there’s something so patently _amazing_ about these things – the smell and taste of the food, the heat of the water and the touch of Bucky’s hand – that Sam’s almost glad he got shoved in that tank for however long.

_Almost_ glad.

“Now let me see that shoulder,” he demands, when he’s out of the tub and wrapped in one of the thin towels the place has available, plus the duvet off the bed.

“It’s fine,” Bucky’s fresh out of the shower, clearly cold and just as clearly not doing anything about it, apparently determined to prove himself formed of sterner stuff.

Yeah, Sam had seen it sending off sparks, much like his wings did back one time when they were toast.

“Come here,” Sam’s prepared to prove himself just as stubborn as Bucky on this one, “I saw you wince –” Okay, so it had been just a flicker, but it still counts, “Talk me through what went wrong, yeah?”

Okay, so things are still feeling like too much, but he’s adjusting – and Bucky is what matters to Sam here.

“Hm,” Bucky projects apathy as he crawls up onto the bed next to Sam, but his flesh-and-blood hand grasps white knuckled at the sheets in something Sam’s sure isn’t negative, not given the look Bucky next sends him.

“You with me?” Sam has to check even so, not about to presume, and –

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice is husky as he turns his metal arm over so Sam can see the damage, “I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Sam finds himself echoing –

_I’m here._

He turns his head and Bucky’s face is right there. It feels like the most natural thing in the world for Sam to lean in the tiny amount needed and graze his mouth with his own. Bucky kisses back lightly, slowly, letting Sam lead – a little careful, a little like he’s giving Sam every opportunity to pull back, pull away, overwhelmed.

It _is_ a little overwhelming in truth, but not nearly as much as before and Sam is self-aware enough to know it isn’t only because of the tank - he’s wanted this for _so long_. He kisses Bucky harder for a moment, feels a small shock go through the other man in response; feels it when Bucky consciously lets himself sigh and soften and relax. And this –

This is _wonderful_.

Even better is when Sam rolls into him, careful of the arm, and Bucky surges up against him, kissing him dizzyingly, no longer holding back anywhere near as much.

“Ah, we'd better – your arm,” Sam forces himself to draw back after what doesn't feel like anywhere near long enough – kissing Bucky is so good it's all he wants to do for _hours_ , but his conscience won't let them carry on, not when they need to see to Bucky's arm.

But tomorrow? After Bucky's arm is fixed and Sam's had more time out from the tank? Yeah –

“Speak in the morning?” Sam asks – hopes – and Bucky bites his lower lip for a moment that Sam feels every second of hot in his belly, glancing up at Sam through his lashes.

“Yeah,” He nods, fingers of his flesh-and-blood hand tangling with Sam's, “We've got time.”

They share the bed in the end, lying side by side, and Sam listens to the quiet rhythm of Bucky's breathing for a long time, more peaceful and hopeful and content than he can remember feeling in years –

And when sleep comes for the both of them, it's without bad dreams.

_Fin_


End file.
